


The Love You Take

by Laura_McEwan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:11:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/pseuds/Laura_McEwan
Summary: Alternate ending to "The Lying Detective". They never leave the flat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so please forgive the rustiness. But that scene...THAT SCENE...I had to.

 

 

_And in the end, the love you make is equal to the love you take. ~Lennon/McCartney_

Tears fell fast and Sherlock moved in, a warm embrace as he’d never done before. Ribs ached and muscles resisted, but John’s pain took greater importance, greater need. It always had.

 “It is what it is,” he murmured. 

Minutes passed and Sherlock’s failing strength swayed them both. He found himself being led away, pressed to the sofa with his feet over the arm. A lift of his shoulders and then his head rested on a pillow, in John’s lap, and they smiled at each other weakly. John’s face was wet and red and Sherlock dared to stroke it with his fingertips. It was not a usual touch from him, and yet... 

“It’s all fine, Sherlock,” John whispered. “Just rest now.” He led Sherlock’s hand down to lie against his robe, covering it warmly with his own. Sherlock’s curls were stroked with the other. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “So sorry. I blamed you because I could. Knew you’d accept it, though it wasn’t true. Truth is, Sherlock, I need you. Damn it all to hell, but I need you. I tried to fill your space with Mary, but… When I don’t have you...when I’m not with you, I’m...less. Less than I could be. Or should be. Forgive me.” 

Sherlock nodded once. “If that’s what you need. Of course I forgive you.” 

John leaned his head back against the sofa, trembling with unfinished tears. Sherlock watched his face, memorizing every line. How often had the pain-filled pen drawn its mark on this familiar face? How much pain had Sherlock wrought? Being dead for two years, leaving John to mourn him. _He mourned me._  Frightening John out of his mind at Baskerville. Failing to protect Mary. So much failure and loss and regret. And yet...John was here. A steadfast soldier. 

John sniffed hard, blew out a very long breath, and looked down at him. “Sleep, Sherlock. Doctor’s orders.” 

He awoke to feel a more delicate hand gently twisting his hair. “John?” he asked, turning his head to the room. 

“Nope, just me.” Molly smiled down at him, worry creasing her forehead. “It was my turn to come keep you company. I told him to go home, but he said he’d rather go upstairs to his old room.” She touched a fingertip to the stitches in Sherlock’s eyebrow. “He did a good number on you, Sherlock, and I’m so sorry you got hurt. Do you need anything, anything at all? He left some pills here and said you should take one. Would you like some tea to take it with?” 

The thought of tea and the fact that John had gone to his room -- his own room where a bed still stood, always waiting -- warmed him. 

“Yes, please,” he replied stiffly sitting up. He rubbed his face, scrubbing at his scruffy beard. He picked up the pill bottle, frowned, and set it down. He rose and painfully walked to the door, to consider and plan how to climb John’s staircase. 

Molly briskly moved about the kitchen, clinking dishes and running water. Sherlock glanced her way, and then moved quietly out of the room. 

The stairs were indeed a challenge with ribs that still hurt beneath their tight bandage, but he managed to climb them anyway. The door to John’s room was not fully closed. Understanding instantly that John had chosen that so he could hear if he were needed left Sherlock with a tightness in his chest. 

 _“In saving my life, she conferred a value upon it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend.”_  

He pushed it open and gazed in. The lower curtain was drawn, dimming the room greatly, while the upper panes allowed a faint glow from the street below. The outline of John’s body on the bed drew a slightly darker shadow. He seemed small. Quiet. Vulnerable. Perhaps needy, and lost. 

Not unlike Sherlock. 

But yet warm. The room felt chilly but from the bed came a pulse of heat, drawing Sherlock in. 

He carefully sat on the edge of the bed. John lay on his side facing away from Sherlock. As John had done for him, Sherlock stroked John’s hair gently, comfortingly. At least, he hoped. 

John stirred and turned his head. “Sherlock? You okay?” 

He didn’t nod, or shake his head. He didn’t know how to answer such a simple question. John must have been able to see his face, for he sat up and leaned closer. 

“Are you hurting? You climbed those stairs alone?” He put his hand against Sherlock’s cheek and Sherlock closed his eyes. Tears pricked. _No. Don’t cry. Why are you crying? Stop it. You’re here for John now. It’s John who matters!_  

“Okay, down you go. Come on.” John pulled the covers down and led Sherlock to lie beside him. “There we go. Warm you up a bit. How are those ribs?” 

Sherlock opened his eyes and nodded faintly, and found he could not stop looking at John. _This man...this man. This beautiful, brave man._  

“Are you even awake, Sherlock?” John chuckled and slid down to rest his head on the pillow. 

He could nod again, or answer with a word, but another compulsion felt stronger. Some part of his brain poked, _“Why are you doing this?”_ while another part encouraged him on. _“The man we both love…”_ It felt like Mary. Perhaps her ghost did live on. 

He leaned forward hesitantly and touched John’s lips with his own, briefly. John didn’t recoil, instead responding just as briefly, then gazed back at Sherlock with slight puzzled frown. 

“And what was that for?” he whispered. 

“I need you, too.” 

John sighed and pulled him close. Sherlock could feel John’s heartbeat against his cheek. Warm, and alive. He counted the beats, calculated the rate, counted again. 

“Leave it on the chair, Molly, and then please close the door,” John said softly. Sherlock smelled the tea and toast, and heard the door latch click. He’d missed hearing her come up the stairs, so focused on John’s heart he’d been. 

“Damn,” he said. 

“She didn’t seem very surprised. We’ll have to chat her up tomorrow. Sherlock?” John hugged him a bit more tightly. “That kiss...you’ll understand if I say I’m not quite ready for all that?” 

“Yes, John.” He sighed. Taken a chance, trusted in John. 

“That...that was a big step for you to take. I understand that. You never said…” He stopped, cleared his throat. His breath blew warm in Sherlock’s ear. “But also understand...I’m not pushing you away. In fact, this old soldier may need to be only like this -- close just like this -- without anything else for a while, at least. Just...lean on me, and I’ll lean on you, and…” 

Sherlock finished the thought in a low whisper. “We’ll hold each other up. I made a vow to you, John. I failed you once. I promise I won’t fail you again.” 

John pushed back to look at him. “You didn’t fail, Sherlock. You hear me?  You did. Not. Fail.” 

The room had grown darker but Sherlock could feel the intensity of John’s gaze. How many times had John spoken to him with only a look? Sent him a silent signal that no one saw but himself? Connection. Bond forged. Friendship. Love. 

“Listen. I forgive you, Sherlock. If that’s what you need to hear, you’re hearing it. I’m here now, aren’t I? I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to my flat and leaving you here, you’re hurt, it’s my fault you’re hurt.” He carefully placed his hand on Sherlock’s ribs. “My fault. I did that, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. And my old bed was still right here. You never got rid of it. You never got rid of it! So I stayed. You’re all I have left -- well, you and Rosie -- but you -- you’re my best friend. And I can be a real bastard, I know. But for whatever reason, you and I...we go together. And if you’ll be patient, give me time...I may come around to this.” He huffed one laugh. “Still wrapping my head around the idea that you…” He paused, took a breath.  ”But for now...just be close. Be close. Be here. You are worth -- everything. You hear me? Everything to me. You have since the day we met.” 

John pulled Sherlock close again and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “God, Sherlock. You do surprise me sometimes.” 

“I love you, John.” Sherlock’s voice cracked. “Being my friend or...or...however we may be. It is what it is?” His voice faded at the end. 

“Exactly. And I love you too, you nut, even when you don’t make much sense. Go back to sleep, and we’ll talk more in the morning.” 

And it was in this simple embrace, in the quiet of an attic room with the streetlights of London casting a soft glow against the ceiling that Sherlock and John slept, and slept deeply, as the tea and toast grew cold on the chair.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Andrea for her help and advice.


End file.
